


The Devil In His Pocket

by Doodsxd



Series: Humans, Heros, Monsters, And Everything In Between [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy likes his stories, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blood and Gore, Character Study, Christianity, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Fluff, Gay Billy Hargrove, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Graphic Description, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Steve Harrington, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Steve Harrington-centric, Storytelling, Symbolism, The Upside Down, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodsxd/pseuds/Doodsxd
Summary: Lucifer, like the snake, like Lilith in the Torah, was supposed to be temptation incarnated. He was supposed to represent all the sins; gluttony, avarice, lust. Every bad impulse that humans had to fight in order to live together in a society. He was juicy apples and fickle smiles, and a spine that refused to bend to anybody else’s word.Lucifer had nothing on Billy.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Humans, Heros, Monsters, And Everything In Between [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568416
Comments: 9
Kudos: 136





	The Devil In His Pocket

**THE DEVIL IN HIS POCKET**

_i. when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will not understand._

_ii. when you first go to run your hands through his hair, his halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt. he will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and will leave so abruptly that he is gone almost before you blink. the last thing you see will be him standing in the doorway, a terrified expression on his face and blood in his hair._   
_(later, he tells you that he didn’t realize how breakable humans could be. when he explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you start to understand.)_

_iii. ask him about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away, about how the universe looks like a blooming garden._   
_do not ask about lucifer, because your angel will become a soldier before your eyes._   
_do not, do not, do not ask about god._   
_do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee fathers, do not infer about a war you know nothing of._

_iv. in a science class you are taking simply to get the credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. she will call planets “celestial bodies” and suddenly you will only be able to think of the way his mouth curls in at the sides, of all the puckered scars that criss-cross his torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of his foot. when the teacher calls on you and asks you if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red._

_(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but other times, it is not.)_

_v. when you fight, it is like the world is ending. his anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire state is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightening catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs—something about duty, something about god—and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the house. the weathermen talk about the storm for days, and you change the channel._

_vi. then there are the times when he doesn’t visit for months on end, and when he finally comes back to you, he is not himself. there are new scars across his chest, and he does not speak. he sits with you in his arms for hours, his nose buried in your hair and his arms squeezed tight, so tight._   
_he does not cry. you do not cry._

_you do not cry._

_vii. when you fall in love with an angel—oh, sweetheart. it’s too late to take it back now._

_"_   
_— on falling in love with an angel || m.m.c_

Steve didn’t exactly go to Sunday School or anything, but he knew the Bible. He knew catholicism, the myths and ideas that permeated it. And some stuff was common knowledge where he lived, like Moses opening the sea or the story about Eve and the apple. 

Billy, though. 

Billy was more of a catholic boy himself. He wore that Saint Christopher medal every single day and, sometimes, even told Steve some of the stories his Ma taught him. About the book of Corinthians, Saint Paul’s letters; about Dinah and Isaac, the wonders and the horrors of what he knew. 

He also told Steve about the devil, and how philosophers and psychologists had explored the archetype of the temptation; about how God cast out his own son to be the punisher of humans, through his own brother, because he could not bring himself to love them more than his father, like he had been ordered to. 

Lucifer, like the snake, like Lilith in the Torah, was supposed to be temptation incarnated. He was supposed to represent all the sins; gluttony, avarice, _lust_. Every bad impulse that humans had to fight in order to live together in a society. He was juicy apples and fickle smiles, and a spine that refused to bend to anybody else’s word. 

Lucifer had _nothing_ on Billy. 

_____________________________________________________________

He had been walking around without a shirt. It was spring break and they were both back in Indiana helping Susan and Max around the house and _damn_ . Just. _Damn_. 

Steve didn’t think he could breathe. 

By the end of it, it was late. He, Max and Billy laid on the roof, looking at the stars. 

“You know the story about the origin of the Milky Way?” He asked them. 

Max rolled her eyes. “You told me that story a million times already, Billy.” 

“I never heard of it.” Steve intervened. He could hear Billy speak forever, honestly. 

Billy was grinning, looking at them both, but turned to face the sky once again. “Many cultures have different versions for that, but I like the one where they say that it’s the milk from Rhea’s breast. Cronus, god of the Harvest, learned that he was destined to be overthrown by his children, just like he overthroned his own father, Uranus, so he swallowed his children to ensure his position as head of the Pantheon. Rhea, mother of gods, was pregnant, and to avoid the death of the child, she wrapped a stone in Zeus’ clothes and gave him for the dad to swallow.” He was smiling, and it was _weird,_ but Steve knew Billy was like that. It didn’t matter how tragic the story was, he enjoyed knowing them. “To make sure it was the kid, Cronus asked her to feed him once more, and the milk that squirted from her breast when she pressed it against the rock became the Milky Way.” 

“That’s disgusting, Billy.” Max was frowning. 

Billy just laughed. “It’s just mom’s milk, Max.”

“Disgusting.” The girl shook her head. “I’m out of here. You two weirdos stay and keep talking of disgusting things, I don’t care.”

Steve squeezed closer to Billy when she was out, because that story? That story was of a mother trying to protect a son from his father. That story was of a woman who was able to stay, to live, and did what she _could_ by her own, no matter how sick and twisted her husband was. 

He entwined his fingers with Billy’s and pulled the back of his hand to his lips, kissing it. 

Billy just smiled at him. And Steve was no religious boy, but right then, under those stars, he prayed. He prayed for whatever god or deity out there, that he would give the skin of his back for Billy to be given all the happiness he deserved from his life. Because that boy, that boy he loved so much, had enough grief written in his semblant already; he walked as if the weight of his experiences was the equivalent of walking the face of the earth for 80 years, not barely 20. 

Steve shut his eyes, quieted his mind, and prayed. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t ask. Steve supposed he didn’t wanna know. 

They were in Steve’s parent’s house, just for the break. They were out, again. He and Billy didn’t have enough money to keep a place of their own in Hawkins _and_ in Massachusetts, even with the internships and jobs, so. 

Cooking was a silent and coordinated affair between them, but between whisking and flipping, Billy just- stopped. 

“Did you do it?” He asked Steve, blue eyes piercing his soul. 

Steve knew what he was talking about, but felt himself cower a little. “Do what?” 

Billy let go of his bowl on the counter, stopping right in front of Steve. There was no escape there. “My dad.” He insisted, direct. “Did you do it?” 

Steve hardened himself a little. He wasn’t sure what to expect, so he put his chin up a little, defensive. Billy loved him, but everything had a limit. 

“I did.” Steve confessed, for the first time even. Nobody but him and Hopper knew about it. 

Billy didn’t say anything. He just looked at Steve for a moment, and then went back to cooking. But that uncomfortable truth, the uncertainty of Billy’s judgement, stayed between them, floating, a feather underneath a fan. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

He still helped Mrs. Norris out, too. Anything electronic or mechanic, Billy was a goddamn wizard about it. He served and served and _served_ until he was rubbed raw, precious stone wrapped in common rock being rolled down a river until only the beautiful core showed. 

Ever since they moved, he wasn’t so angry, so pushed to his limits - but that didn’t mean he calmed down, either. He still had a lot of energy, a lot of fear, walking stiffly and watching his tongue to avoid his classmates knowing he lived with another man. 

Not that Steve didn’t do the same. One day, maybe, the world would be progressive enough for them to be on it without fearing stupidity, but that time wasn’t then. Not yet. 

But in Hawkins, after fixing everything for everyone, exhausted and sweaty and filled with Mrs. Norris cookies and Mrs. Byers strong coffee, he smiled easily and cuddled up to Steve with no fear left, content and purring like a cat. 

Billy was a shield, and he took care of his own. 

Steve wondered if him knowing that Steve didn’t precisely _need_ a shield, that he was capable or horrible things (things like _killing a man-_ ) would change that. 

He listened to Billy’s soft snoring the whole night, eyes glued open in the darkness, wishing he could see inside those blue eyes the way they seemed to see into him. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

They learned, though, that Hawkins also wasn’t a safe place, either. 

They had been walking from the ice cream shop, big group all together, when some kids, same age as Max, threw a tomato at Will’s head. 

“FAGGOT!” They called out and laughed, high-fiving themselves. “PILLOW-BITER BYERS!”

And it _hurt_ . It hurt that people thought it was _alright_ to scream insults and to throw things at them, it hurt that the fight never seemed to be other. 

Billy was the one to walk forward to face the kids, though. Steve wasn’t sure of what to make of his posture, but he didn’t interfere. Neither did anybody else, just watching; waiting. 

“Hey, kid,” He was smiling, but it was _wrong_ , _wrongwrongwrong-_

“What?” The kid was asking to die by his tone alone. 

Billy didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate. He got the kid’s bike from his hands, lifted it and broke it to pieces, first against the wall, then fucking up the aluminum rim with his feet. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The kid was screaming, his friends running away.

Done with the bike, Billy got the kid again, against the wall fisting his shirt, looking every inch the vengeful angel that he was, always had been holy fire and hell’s blaze wrapped in one. 

“I hear you talk shit again, I hear you so much _breathe_ on the direction of any of those kids,” He was breathing hard, and the kid finally seemed properly afraid. He _had_ some self-preservation instincts, after all. Steve was starting to doubt it. “I don’t care who the fuck you are, I’m hanging you naked from the school’s flagpole.” 

He swallowed hard, nodding, and Billy let him go. It took the boy no time to scurry away; by the time Billy made his way back to the group he was already out of sight. 

Will was already as clean as he would get without a shower, and Billy, satisfied with that, wrapped one arm around Steve’s waist as they walked. Steve didn’t care. 

Steve had always been the group’s mama, and Billy’s wings just wrapped around everything Steve would give his life to protect. 

He felt his shoulders sag in relief, because, right then, they were all as safe as they would ever be. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

On that night, though, the air around him was cackling with electricity, anger, unadulterated _fury_. It had been a while Billy was like that - he sometimes still was, still needed Steve to pull him apart and put him back together; never slowly, never gently, but always careful. And Steve enjoyed it, if he was honest, he enjoyed the power, the position of trust, he enjoyed taking care of Billy and watching him come apart, his anger dissolve, his purest and rawest self come forward when he was on his knees. 

That night, though, that wasn’t what he needed. It was a first, for them, but Steve wasn’t afraid. He never was. He could take whatever the fuck Billy dished out, same as Billy could chew Steve up and cradle him tenderly afterwards, when it was _Steve_ who needed some toning down. 

They got home and Steve never had the chance to turn up the lights before being thrown against the wall. The kiss was rough, the touching eager but soft, and, like that, they made their way to Steve’s old bed. 

He opened himself up in the dark, Steve handing him his old jar of vaseline - still not expired, he knew - and moved so he was riding Steve. In contrast to the energy buildup in his body, between them, everything that had been around on the few days prior to that moment, he was moving _slowly_ , tortuously _slowly_ , and Steve couldn’t fucking _breathe_. 

“Tell me, pretty boy,” He said, and from the sliver of window that had been open Steve could make his silhouette, the way his hips rolled against Steve’s, maddening, his cock tucked _deep_ into his body, Billy’s cock standing proudly between his wiry hairs. He looked like a God, and Steve would happily kneel by his altar for the rest of his life. 

“Tell you - uh, _fuck_ , - tell you _what_?” He asked, confused. 

“Tell me how you did it,” His voice was a little strained, too, cock weeping precome. “Tell me how you killed my father.” 

Steve choked, gripped on the sheets around him, shock almost making him soften inside of Billy. _Almost_. “What?”

“How did you do it, baby boy?” He asked again, lowering his torso to kiss Steve on the lips, lewd and sacred in one tongue swipe. “Tell me how you killed him.” 

Steve swallowed dry, shut his eyes, cock pulsing, threatening to shoot his load way too soon. “I… didn’t do it alone.” He said, and was rewarded by a roll of Billy’s hips, making him moan. “Billy-”

“Tell me, baby boy.” He kissed Steve’s chest, bit his neck. “Tell me everything.” 

Steve did. 

“We waited for him after work, at the 46th.” Steve’s voice was strangled, he was probably barely unintelligible. “Hopper fired his sirene as soon as we got a hit on the plate.”

Billy just rummed, hip-rolls going quicker, longer, taking Steve’s breath away. “Then what?” 

“Then he pulled over. Hopper tried to talk to him, first, but he tried to hit me.” He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, remembering the insane rage on Neil Hargrove’s eyes on that particular night. “I think he knew, then, that he wasn’t going back home.”

“He-” Billy bit Steve’s nipple. He arched and moaned. “He swung like hell, but I got him. Planned on doing it with my bat, at first, but when I noticed I had him on the pavement, smashing his skull with my fists. And Hopper…” Billy clenched his inner muscles and Steve almost screamed. “Hopper just _watched_.”

“Chief seems to know what it is to lose somebody.” He bit Steve’s tendon, no mercy in his teeth, in _any_ of him. He was burning the sin from Steve’s body one thrust at a time, pulling it all to himself. “Tough guy.”

Steve nodded, half out of it. “After I was done with him, Hop put a bullet through his brains, just to make sure he was really dead. Then we tied him to rocks and dunked his body into the river, near the bridge.”

Billy hummed, lips tracing Steve’s features. “How did it feel?” He breathed against his skin. 

It was a hard place to tune into, but Steve tried; wrapped his hands around Billy’s hips and started to thrust up, too, taking a little more control. Billy took it easily, eagerly; beautifully, if anyone asked Steve. “It felt like… “ 

He thought about it. Remembered the sick crunch of Neil’s skull under his bloodied fists, the satisfaction of knowing _that_ man wasn’t going to lay a fucking finger on Billy anymore. 

“I felt like I did when I was killing monsters. Like I was protecting my territory, my own.” Billy gasped and Steve felt it in his gut, that he was able to touch, give and take pleasure, from such a being, “You may be the shield but I’m the fucking sword, Billy. And I’d go through _anyone_ or _anything_ to protect you and the kids.” 

Billy’s features softened; his smile a blessing bestowed on Steve. His breath hitched at the sight. “Mama Harrington,” He joked, but it didn’t have any heat to it; _especially_ because it ended in a moan as Steve hit his prostate over and over again. 

“That makes you _papa Billy_ ,” He teased back, taking care to never use that surname alone. Not even in jokes, usually, not anymore. 

Billy groaned at that. “Fuck, Steve, what a way to kill the mood-” He complained, but as soon as Steve picked up the pace again, he announced that he was close, so close, and that was _good_ because Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to handle-

They came almost in tandem, Steve’s orgasm beginning a tad before Billy’s. Into that snug heat, pulsing and spending himself inside the man he loved, Steve was pretty sure he needed no fucking heaven other than that. 

Later, when they were on their post-sex cuddle time, Billy was writing something on Steve’s chest with his finger for a while there, before speaking again:

“You said you killed other monsters here in Hawkins.” Steve stiffened a bit under his ministrations, but didn’t interrupt Billy. “What did you mean by that?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Steve announced, and he couldn’t help the way his face started brewing up a storm. He really couldn’t, remembering what happened in that very town, in his own pool, even. 

“Try me.” Billy insisted, eyes stuck on Steve’s face again. Trying to read his mind; reaching his heart and soul instead. 

“Alright.” Steve sighed. “But whatever I tell you here, I’m just warning you: you’d probably live better without knowing.” 

So, he told him. Billy made no questions, didn’t interrupt him _once_. He just listened and listened, face stoic, fingers still moving over Steve’s skin. He could never lie still, and Steve found that reassuring, especially on those nights where he woke up smelling blood, just to wake up and be immediately sure that Billy was alive, because something in him was always moving one way or another. 

When it was all over, Billy leaned and kissed Steve’s lips tenderly, curling up against his cooling even more. 

“Have you ever heard the story of Saint Christopher?” Billy asked him, voice soft; another secret shared through an allegory. 

Steve shook his head. “The one in your medal?”

Billy smiled. “Yeah. He was a big guy, real buff.” Steve laughed and Billy slapped him. “I’m serious! He was big and buff. First he served a king, but then he learned that king was afraid of the devil. So he decided to serve the devil, until he learned that the devil served Jesus. And, once he asked this other guy how to serve Jesus, the guy answered that he could do it through prayer and fasting.”

“But Christopher knew he couldn’t do that, he couldn't be quiet or hungry for that long. So he asked if there was any other way to serve Jesus. The guy answered that if he helped people cross a very dangerous river, then he would be serving Jesus as well. So, there Christopher went. 

“One day, though, saint Christopher helped this kid that got heavier and heavier which each step he took. He wouldn’t let go, though, and crossed the river with the kid in his arms; the kid later revealed that he was Christ in disguise. 

“Since he got converted, he also tried to serve Jesus by converting others too. He was tortured and killed by the local king, who was angry that Jesus was gaining power and followers around his kingdom. The guy even tried to bribe him with money and women, but he turned the first down and converted them. He lost his head, in the end. But he was canonized, and is not the patron of children.”

Billy smiled at him and kissed his cheek before taking off his necklace - the one Steve _knew_ belonged to his mother - and put it around Steve’s neck, the golden medal resting warmly over his chest. Steve’s heart pounded, but as time went by, with Billy holding his hand, it calmed down once again. 

They slept like that. No more words were needed. 

____________________________________________________________________________

They were all in Joyce’s house, weirdly enough, by Billy’s request. The woman accepted to let her house be once again a meeting point for them, and Billy was the one to get them the food. Lucas was the last one to arrive, apologizing. 

“Don’t worry, pal, just, everybody is here, right?” He asked, and both Joyce and Hopper nodded. “Alright, so.” 

Then, he turned to Steve, and every fucking time. Even so long after they got together, Billy’s smile could _still_ take his breath away so easily. 

He was such a sucker. 

“I’m not sure everybody here will approve. I mean, I’m not even sure you approve our relationship _now_ , and I get it.” He didn’t let anyone speak, but the others were exchanging looks, a little confused. “I was an asshole for the better part of my life. I’m still an asshole, I think; not the same, but that isn’t something that just goes away.” 

He saw Joyce and Hopper exchange a _look_ , but he was still confused. 

“And I also know it’s not exactly _legal_ right now, and I know I don’t need anybody’s _permission_ , but-” Billy looked at the people gathered at the Byers’ little living room, such a _pleading_ cherubic look on his face that Steve wondered who could _ever_ say no to that face. “You’re his family. I know you matter to him, and you matter to me too, but you’re _his_. Steve’s a lot like me in that account, he’s fiercely protective, and I thought… I thought it would be important for you to be here for this.”

Steve felt blindsided when he saw Billy get down on one knee and present him with a couple of rings. 

“We can’t legally get married, but it doesn’t mean we can’t have anything symbolic around family and friends to make it official.” He continued speaking, but it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t, because time _stopped_ , and Steve’s heart _stopped_ , and what the flying fuck?

“Baby boy, I wanna get as close to marrying you as I can, so. I bought us these two, but I’d like to have a little something-something, too. A party, some vows, I don’t know.” He shrugged, and was looking at Steve expectantly. Like he would say no. Like it was physically possible, like “n” followed by “o” coming out of his mouth wouldn’t be a tear in space-time continuum, twisting the universe out of shape, every planet crashing into each other, everything known in shambles. “Would… would you marry me?” 

“I think you broke Steve.” Dustin said after, like, thirty seconds of silence from Steve. 

Joyce put a hand on his shoulder. “Steve, honey?” 

_That_ made him lurch forward, kneeling in front of Billy and hugging him, kissing him, and he loved every single one of them so much, and nobody had a childish reaction like _eew_ for them kissing - actually, Max had her eyes filled with tears, same as Joyce, and the other kids - Steve’s kids - were all kinda smiling and aww-ing the whole scene. 

“Like there was ever the possibility I would say no.” He whispered against Billy’s skin, sniffing. “I’d go to hell with you. Probably will.” 

“Can’t be hell if you’re there with me, pretty boy,” Was his answer, and everything, in that fucking, tiny moment, was _perfect_. 

They exchanged rings - a promise, for now-, Max was Billy’s best man, Dustin was Steve’s, Joyce and Billy were already discussing a menu. 

El’s hand on Steve’s snapped him out of his thoughts, soft and gentle over his skin. 

“He really loves you.” She assured him with a smile. “I don’t think he can ever stop. It’s too big inside of him.” 

Steve held her hand back, smile taking over his face. “Neither can I.” He announced. And it was true, too.

El smiled at him. “There’s something on you. Some… aura.” She still struggled with words, sometimes. “Good aura. Like you’re both whole when you’re each each other. Complements.” 

Steve wasn’t sure she was being truthful or just a romantic teenager, but he couldn’t care less. 

Billy turned to him suddenly. Gave Steve his most devilish smile, cocked his hips, ring gleaming on his finger. _Steve’s._ He wanted to mark him all over. 

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” He asked, walking to him, and if this was a dream, don’t fucking wake him. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He put his hands around Billy’s shoulders and kissed him, the whole world coming to its axis on his lips. “Don’t cream your pants.” 

_____________________________________________________________________________


End file.
